


Songs of the Universal

by Beaufort



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pining, Sexual Content, Surrealism, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 03:58:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2373653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beaufort/pseuds/Beaufort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surrounded, surrounded, in<br/>measureless oceans of space,<br/>...<br/>Till the gossamer thread you fling,<br/>catch somewhere, O my Soul.	- Whitman</p><p>Collection of Brownham AUs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream - [Florida (Nolan) AU]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 4th, 2014

The evening temperature rests well above the 90s. It’s a sweltering heat that prowls low and close to the coarse grass and tropical fauna. Their AC works only periodically, mostly during the day- for which they’re both grateful for.

Although, Floridian nights are just as hot and humid, even with the imagery of nightfall.

The house they’re building is nestled in the Florida Keys, away from metropolitan population. It's a tourist trap location, but their small community is located in a private sector with few wandering vacationers. It’s peaceful, and solitary, Will thinks.

He’ll never have to worry about chasing his dogs through thigh high snow, shotgun in hand.

It’s not much, more of a large cabin than anything at this point. There are construction tools scattered on every counter and Matthew’s clothes littered on the back of chairs. They have a bedroom, a bathroom, and a makeshift den that functions as a kitchen and laundry room, but that’s it.

It’s not exactly home.

But it will be.

Will drags the bed sheets down onto a ratty old rug, while Matthew does his nightly perimeter check. The evening is hot enough that the mattress was ruled out without even a single word exchanged

Neither of them have a preference for soft pillowy beds, so it works well- the hardness of the floor comforting and solid.

Will folds their bed sheet over the rug, eyes skimming the sweat on Matthew’s back with a familiar ease. Lingering lower. Matthew has never been shy of his body, so nudity is nothing to him. In fact, he makes a showing of bending down to adjust the pillows.

Will plays around with a spinning top as he waits. He looks away when Matthew calls out his name.

When they finally lie down, it’s with a heavy exhaustion that comes on the heels of a sigh of comfort.

There’s a casual air of sexual energy between them- the muggy heat, their furtive glances, and Matthew’s frank nudity.

It doesn’t take a whole lot to interest Matthew, but these things require a bit more time on Will’s part. He’s healthy, he’s fit, but he’s no longer as young as he was five or ten years ago. There are some traumas that reach inwards and change the very physiological processes of your being.

Matthew has never complained though. Conversely, he is delighted by the slow pull and tug of their bedroom relations. He is endlessly fascinated by every touch and caress, threading fingers through Will’s curls and tugging gently until his hips jolt in response.

Will unfurls quickest when Matthew is talking, whispering words into the salty skin from between the V of his thighs. Sometimes inane chatter, other times, darker fantasies. 

They’re on the edge of exhaustion and interest, where a single touch could lead to so much more, or a blink of the eye, a heavy dream filled sleep.

In the end it’s Will who rolls over, shirking his t-shirt in the process, more frustrated about the heat then with any intent to seduce. It’s a good combination of movements though, because it leaves Matthew dry in the mouth, and a smoldering heat in his belly.

Matthew’s thighs come up against Will’s hips, and any other day Will would raise an eyebrow and joke about how he was getting thicker around the waist with age- he’s not-, but the sight is effective in its own.

I’m trying to seduce you, Mr. Graham. Please let me know if it’s working.

It worked 10 minutes ago, Matthew.

Amusement falls away from Will’s face when Matthew guides their mouths together, eyes open the entire time, pupils dark and intense.

Matthew likes to kiss with his eyes open, so Will indulges him and they stare at one another through the chaste, the teasing, and the passionate.

It hardly matters that Matthew is already there and Will only half way, because they’ve learned to wait and follow one another in more ways than one since the first time they met.

It’s a bit of an unplanned surprise when they hear the distinct sound of the pet door being opened, and a sharp characteristic bark. In seconds a furry object has torn through their makeshift camp, hobbling away in excitement afterwards.

Matthew breathes out, wetting his lips, while Will laughs and moves away.

He reaches out a hand to rub at Tripod’s ears, receiving a small playful nip in retaliation. 

Tripod’s a jealous one, you’d better go, Matthew.

Nothing is as important as you, Matthew wants to say. Nothing, and no one. But Will is already standing up, shaking out a nearby bundle of wrinkled sheets.

Matthew watches as Will comes back to him, wrapping the fabric loosely around his hips, folding it in like a bath towel. Matthew suppresses a shiver down his spine as Will’s knuckles work across his tattoos, and the sheets shift against his sensitive skin. 

Ah.

They both still, and stare with an offbeat horror at the crumpled sheets.

I’m sorry, Mr. Graham, but I think you made it worse.

I suppose I did.

I’ll be right back. You don’t have to wait for me.

Will huffs in amusement, but doesn’t say anything.

There’s really nothing to say really, when they both know he’ll be standing on the porch a few minutes later, next to Matthew, taking in the vaguely salty sea breeze, and curling in with the company of their canine family.

They most likely won’t return to bed till a few hours later, exhausted or not. Matthew would play fetch with their dogs- too warm and restless from the evening heat. He would occasionally get distracted by Will’s quiet but lingering gazes, and they’d lose themselves for a few brief seconds against the banisters of their porch. 

Ultimately though, they’d settle back, and that, too, would be fine-

Will smiles and follows Matthew out the door, holding the long skirt of the sheets. Matthew hums beneath his breath. 

You’re wearing black boxers, and I’m wearing a white sheet.

Yes. Winston and Tripod can lead them in chorus. Mendelssohn might be a little difficult though.

Fuck, Mr. Graham, you’ve thought about this.

-because now they have all the time in the world.

No need to rush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Felix Mendelssohn wrote the famous Wedding March, which was addressed to Shakespeare’s Mid-Summer Night’s Dream.  
> *Surprise, it's an Inception AU, with a spinning top to accompany.


	2. Brave New Tomorrow- [Zombie Apocalypse AU]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 15th, 2014

In the end, their first time, and most likely their last isn’t very sexy or comfortable, and Will regrets not letting Matthew shove a hand down his pants back when they still had fresh water, canned food, and ammunition.

Will manages a wry laugh when he hears a shuffle near them.

He’d been worried about guarding the safe house in case Lecter’s band of cannibal hunters sniffed them out. Pun intended. 

Now they were camping out on a fucking bridge to achieve a positional advantage over any roaming zombies. By the same turn, it exposed them to any stray rag tag team of hunters. It’s more of a last resort decision, considering the woods were Lecter’s territory. And there’s nothing that will convince him to go near Hannibal Lecter again. Not after losing Beverly, and Abigail the way they did.

So it isn’t sensual or romantic, and Jack and Chilton are slumped a few feet away. One of them must be awake, from the sound of shuffling on the other side of the abandoned car wreck.

Matthew’s has his mouth on Will’s chest, and Will genuinely apologizes for the grime and sweat on his body. Even as a warm tongue works along his pectorals, he’s thinking about the last time he’s washed up with a soaked rag. Which should be a week or so ago. He thinks of how unsanitary this is.

Will tugs at Matthew’s short hair with a grimace that pulls at his chapped lips, “You should really stop, you’ll get sick.”

Matthew pulls out of his hold with a nonchalant tilt of the head. He looks Will in the eye; it’s probably a casual look, but any look from him is intense on a general basis. Matthew tells him, “I really don’t mind. Not the best taste in my mouth, but it’s you, so I want everything.”

Someone - it’s Chilton - groans on the other end, and tells them to shut the fuck up, and fuck if they have to, but get it done quickly so he can sleep and not vomit his guts out. He’s severely dehydrated already, thank you all very damn much.

Will has learned that he has a certain talent for pissing off Dr. Chilton. Former doctor of course.

 

It’s only fair to reciprocate, Will thinks, and sucks at the skin on Matthew’s neck. He flicks his tongue against Matthew’s artery, and wets it with his spit. He thinks this will probably be the last thing he tastes, this patch of skin that’s covered in day grime, sweat, and a bare hint of blood. If anything, it’s certainly masculine, Will jokes bitterly, and Matthew thrusts his crotch against him with more force than is strictly arousing.

Will bites down hard.

This draws out a low groan from Matthew, of which Will quickly muffles with a hand, fingers feeling the scrape of unshaven facial hair. They’re both over thirty years old, and here they are rutting against each other against a metal railing of a bridge, half sitting and half sprawled on concrete.

Matthew has some kind of a machete near him, and Will, an old hunting rifle that’s dented at the stock for smashing in a rotting cranium. He hadn't gotten around to cleaning it off yet- couldn't really find a convincing reason to do so. 

It’s a pretty sexy situation, Matthew tells him, psychological thriller, apocalypse grunge, Gung-ho gore, and Brokeback all rolled in one.

I’m really aroused by this stuff, Mr. Graham. Cross my heart.

And the thing is, Will doesn’t even know if it’s a joke. Matthew assures him it is, he’s insane, but not that insane. Will stares at him for a long time.

 

In the end, their first time and most likely last isn’t really sexy or comfortable, but it’s strangely and unconventionally kinky, what with their unwashed faces, growing beards, dirty kisses- another pun intended- and an audience not five feet away. It isn’t that bad though.

But if they do survive the night, and the apocalypse by extension, Will would prefer a hot shower, a toasty meal, and Matthew alive, warm, and smirking beneath his roaming hands.

Something to hope for, and something to keep them going when the bullets run out.

Their first time isn’t that bad, Will thinks when his eyes fall shut and Matthew breathes heavily into his mouth.


	3. Playground of Hawks [Prison AU]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May 27th, 2014

_Will Graham and Matthew Brown meet as inmates in North Branch Correctional Institution, a maximum security prison in Maryland. It starts with pure intellectual stimulation, their minds brilliant, restless, and lethal, but ends with smoldering sexual tension laced with a vigilante brand of Schadenfreude. They have the hierarchy and game play of every inmate in their division worked out like a casual round of Sudoku. To some, it’s manipulation and crime, to them it’s flirtation and mutual seduction of the highest caliber._

* * *

Will mouths a name as he passes by Matthew’s cell, the guard behind him not two feet away. He discretely twitches two of his fingers before turning the corner, knowing the other man would’ve caught the small motion. 

Matthew’s eyes light up, and a small smirk curls at the edge of his mouth. 

Phillip Edwards. First degree murder, sexual battery. 12 cells down. 

2 hours to make his play. 

When Will returns from a round of interrogation, Edwards was found drowned in his own piss bucket after screaming obscenities and threatening suicide. Funny thing, he seemed so stable that morning.

 Will chances a look at Matthew, who is slouched on his cot, reading Dostoyevsky. He can’t help but smile wryly and send a quick wink. Matthew responds with a small suggestive roll of the hips.

* * *

 

There’s a specific social structure among the inmates, and this is most clearly reflected during exercises in the prison courtyard. Only certain individuals ever join in on the spontaneous games of pick up ball. The rest keep to themselves around the perimeter.

Will is very good at keeping to the perimeter. The same is not true for Matthew.

Matthew is as detail orientated as they get, conscientious and patient, always biding his time against the wall. But he is also prone to thrill seeking, something that Will believes the man himself cannot put a leash on. Every once in a month, Matthew lingers too close and everyone in the courtyard pauses to see where his next footstep lands.

He always retreats, and this, this earns him sniggers and insults,  _look at the fagging pussy with his lisp. Goddamn limp wristed fucker. Get this bitch in the shower, yeah?_

They don’t understand what Will does, which is that this is how Matthew baits his prey. And he is clever enough to cover his tracks every time, leaving not even a trace nor hint of association.

Will has seen this happen for four months, and each time it sends his heart jack rabbiting beneath his ribs. His skin becomes sensitive to touch, the scrape of the prison scrubs irritating the strips of skin on his inner thighs. He is a little warmer, and his muscles tense with something so close to coitus that he is genuinely worried by his own physiological reactions.

Matthew comes to him after his supposed cowardly retreat, but there is nothing cowardly about his brilliant gaze and the brush of his hand against Will’s leg.

Will shoves him away, and spits on the ground near Matthew’s feet, and this part is unfortunate, but it is his role on the sudden makeshift stage. A necessary evil, flushed powder on a painted cheek.

When Matthew looks at him, it’s from a calculated angle that grants them their craved privacy. His eyes are perhaps the most distinctive feature on him, carving with emotion. And today, today they read something else.

Before he even opens his mouth, dry lips scraping against one another, Will already understands the implications of this exquisite gift. From the mouth of a hawk to another, this relinquish of a prey from a predator that is known for solitary pride and self-possession. 

 _All yours, Mr. Graham._  Proud, carnal, rousing.

 

He can see the way it unfolds, a two way street between them, and how it'll escalate beyond all control. 

Will feels a quiet sense of empowerment.


	4. Blue Moon [Post Canon Asexual!Will AU]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 18th, 2014  
> Soft jazz verse  
> Blue Moon- Diane Shaw (orig. Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart)

Matthew kisses him shallowly, brief points of contact that in essence question the action of kissing itself. Will counts each press against his mouth, warm, soft, and controlled. There’s no taste to these kisses, not when their lips only touch and go, skin on skin pressure.

Will allows Matthew these chaste gestures, though he feels nothing in his veins, stomach, groin. It doesn’t bother him, strictly, but it doesn’t bring him any pleasure other than the standard responses to comforting touches and passing contact.

Matthew, in turn, has learned not to press him for more.

 

It isn’t as if Will hasn’t offered him. He has. Out of determined obligation. Affection. Something they call love. But these things are so hard to give and take when not done so out of true fervent desire.

Will is envious of Matthew, the naked want in his eyes and the quick of his breath. He sees in Matthew a drive and wanting that comes hand in hand with his clever eyes and sharp mouth. It is something foreign to Will’s physiology, but so normal and mundane in everyone else’s.

Will, too, yearns for the ability to yearn, but he is quite mute in that regard. Sometimes he wonders if it’s the trade off for his vivid imagination and heightened empathy. Empathy for everything other than sexuality.

Sexuality in the sense of a capacity for sexual desire, and not orientation.

He likes touch, though, intimate quiet caresses that Matthew is happy to give. With the lamps dimmed a golden hue, and their flat overlooking the bustling cityscape, touch is emotionally fulfilling.

 

Nights like these, Matthew peppers him with light kisses on the mouth and on the sensitive skin of his neck. When his dry lips scrape against Will’s pulse, there is almost a distinct echo of what could be.

Will tells them insane bed time stories, tales of Floridian nights and the sound of palms rustling in the tropical breeze. There’s mango, and citrus, and finger bananas, and papaya. There’s a mid aged man that sits by the ocean, and a ring of dogs guarding him from the waves. They are waiting, it seems. 

He talks and talks, voice falling away when his voice grows hoarse. Sometimes Matthew would pick it up for him. Other times, they’d soak in the silence, with the sound of traffic beneath their windows.

Always, always, Matthew promises, they will have their future, they will have their future. 

Will believes him, and they fall asleep easily, bodies curled around one another like tender eyed, loose limbed children. 

Moonlight falls across them, peaceful and maternal. 


	5. Limbo [Surrealism AU]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June 13th, 2014

The gracilis muscle is a long line of sensitivity. Will’s feet tingle with the telltale prickle of warmth and pleasure against the broad span of Matthew’s back. He is a quiet pocket of air from the mouth, as Matthew wanders upon the territory between his thighs, explorative and tender with lips that pulse with the excitement of blood.

Will’s legs press downwards with a sudden cathartic motion and force.

Matthew yields easily to the pressure on his shoulders, body falling low and humble in pliant submission. He has never seen anyone unfurl so nicely, spine leaving the sheets in the undulation of a sine curve.

When Will’s eyes open, they are soft and warmly shadowed with sleepy affection, the lover that had disappeared behind the skin of a fighter. He cards his fingers through Matthew’s hair, lingering across the delicate skin of his eyelids, and tracing the plush curve of an ear.

Matthew licks across the outstretched wrist, and hums in quiet delight at the strong steady beat of longevity.

             

They have escaped the tedious orbit, and now they are free floating away from order and the judgmental eyes of a prying world.

Reality has changed.

_Reality is changing._


End file.
